


Of Angel Wings and Guardians

by StBridget



Series: Guardian [10]
Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Christmas, Christmas pageant, Family, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-25
Updated: 2017-11-25
Packaged: 2019-02-06 17:14:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12822246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StBridget/pseuds/StBridget
Summary: Connor is supposed to be an angel in the school Christmas pageant.  There's a little problem with his wings. . .





	Of Angel Wings and Guardians

**Author's Note:**

> MacGyver is property of CBS and its creators. 
> 
> Since I did the iPod shuffle challenge, I entertain myself by thinking about what I'd write when songs come up on my iPod. This, believe it or not, was inspired by the carol "The Holly and the Ivy".

“Daddies, daddies, guess what? I get to be an angel in the Christmas pageant!” Connor came rushing out of school to meet Mac and Jack. He was so excited he was practically vibrating.

 

Jack snatched the piece of paper Connor was waving around.

 

“What’s it say?” Mac asked as he gave his son a big hug, scooping him into his arms.

 

“It says the whole school is having a Christmas pageant next week, and the kindergartners are going to be angels.” Jack frowned. “It says here he needs a costume.”

 

“What kind?” Mac took the paper from Jack. “Wings, halo, robe. At least they have instructions.” The blond frowned. “Coat hangers and tin foil? What kind of halo is that? I can do much better. I think I’ll tell the teacher that.”

 

“Careful, or you’ll end up making halos for everybody,” Jack warned.

 

“What’s wrong with that?” Mac wanted to know.

 

Jack looked at him, incredulous. “Do you really want to make halos for 30 kindergartners?” he asked.

 

“Sure, why not? How hard can it be?” Mac said.

 

“Just remember that when I say ‘I told you so’,” Jack told him.

 

It turned out Jack was right—making halos was a lot harder than it seemed. Mac hoped Jack would let it go, but he should have known better. The Guardian crowed triumphantly at his husband’s struggles, lounging on a bench in the workshop and offering “helpful advice”. Mac resisted the temptation to throw the proto-halo at him.

 

The basic design was easy—bending the metal rod into a circle and welding it was a piece of cake. It was after that things got tricky. Mac’s first several designs were too top-heavy and tilted precariously until he secured them with rods on both sides.

 

The next task was attaching it the the child’s head. Another piece of metal just wouldn’t do—it was too tight and left an indentation in Connor’s head. Besides, Mac knew all the kids had different sized heads, and he didn’t want to custom fit 30 halos (“I told you so” Jack’s voice echoed in his head. Mac told it to shut up). The answer turned out to be fairly easy—a sweatband with the halo sewn onto it. A little gold spray paint, and voila, a halo fit for a king—or a five-year-old.

 

“What do you think?” Mac asked as he placed the halo on Connor’s head.

 

Connor looked in the mirror. “It’s great, Daddy Mac. We’re going to have the best halos ever!”

 

Mac beamed proudly until Jack interrupted his moment of triumph. “One down, 29 to go.”

 

Mac groaned.

 

Wings proved to be much harder. Mac was grateful he hadn’t offered to “improve” those. They were simple cardboard with feathers glued on, but the feathers got _everywhere_. Connor loved playing with them, throwing them up into the air and chasing after them like a cat, which just made matters worse. Jack, of course, just sat on the sidelines and laughed.

 

“You could help,” Mac snapped. “He’s your son, too.”

 

“Nah,” Jack said, batting a stray feather at his husband. It hit Mac in the eye, and he brushed it away. “It’s much more fun to watch.”

 

Finally, the wings were done, and they looked magnificent, if Mac said so himself. No patchy,  lopsided  wings for him—everything was precisely measured and every inch covered in the fluffiest feathers he could find. There was just one problem: Connor refused to wear them.

 

“I have wings,” he said, shoving the offending objects away from him.

 

“Those aren’t angel wings,” Mac said, patiently.

 

“Yes, they are!” Connor insisted.

 

“No, they’re Guardian wings,” Mac said. “They’re different.”

 

“No, they’re not,” Connor said. “Daddy Jack says Guardians are just like angels, so they’re angel wings.”

 

It was hard to fault that logic. Mac looked at Jack. “You want to handle this?”

 

Jack bent down to Connor’s level. “There’s different kinds of angels, buddy. There’s Guardians, who have brown wings like us, and there’s Biblical angels, who have white wings. These are Biblical angels.”

 

“I’m not one of those! I’m a Guardian! Don’t want white wings!”

 

Mac and Jack looked at each other over Connor’s head. “What’s it going to hurt?” Jack asked.

 

“He won’t look like the other kids,” Mac pointed out.

 

“Since when do we care about that?” Jack countered.

 

“His teacher’s not going to like it.”

 

“We’ll think of something.”

 

Mac was right. Connor’s teacher wasn’t happy. “They’re all supposed to match. We can’t have an angel with brown wings.”

 

“They were out of white feathers,” Jack lied, smoothly. Mac had to hand it to his husband—he was a consummate liar. It was all those years in intelligence. “Everybody’s making angel wings. We left it too late. This was the best we could do.”

 

“He won’t be able to be in the pageant,” the teacher threatened.

 

Jack drew himself up to his full height and leveled a finger at her. “Now, listen here, you are not discriminating against my child because of something outside of his control. He’s been looking forward to this pageant all week. You are not denying him this just because his wings are different.”

 

The teacher paled. Mac didn’t blame her. Jack on a rampage was a truly terrifying sight. “I..I.. guess it’s okay,” she stammered.

 

“Good.” Jack wrapped an arm around Connor’s shoulders and led him off. “Come on, buddy, let’s get you ready.”

 

Once Connor was ready, Mac and Jack took their seats in the audience. “Look, there’s Connor,” Jack pointed out when the kindergartners came on stage. He aimed his phone at his son.  Connor was easy to spot with his brown wings among the white. He did stick out like a sore thumb, but Mac and Jack didn’t care. He was there son, and that was all that mattered.  “Doesn’t he look cute?”

 

“He’s the best angel there,” Mac agreed.

 

“Best wings, too,” Jack said, snapping more pictures.

 

Mac chuckled. “That’s because his are real.”

 

“Damn straight,” Jack said.

 

“Their halos look great, too,” Mac said.

 

“Of course they do,” Jack said, proudly. “You made them. You’re the best. No one can beat you when you set your mind to something.”

 

Mac preened a bit at Jack’s praise. “Thank you. I’m just glad the teacher’s keeping them so I don’t have to do it again next year.”

 

“You wouldn’t have to anyway,” Jack said. “Next year he’s a shepherd.”

 

Mac sighed in relief. Shepherds had to be easier, right? Right????

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry, I don't plan to write Connor as a shepherd. :(


End file.
